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Meetings it seems, were a constant across all stages of existence.
Sylvanas had loathed them in life and barely tolerated them in death, now she had a perspective on a cosmic level. And it had done little to ingratiate herself to them as a result, it was all so pointless.
Unfortunately, she was still Warchief. And that meant that such diplomatic events required her presence, she wouldn't be able to fob the duty off on Nathanos. That would likely just restart a war, and as much as her ‘partner’ needed souls, the horde needed time to recover from the war with the legion. So she would play the part she was given and sign whatever documents let them do so with minimal damage.
Details were not important right now, Lor'themar would take minutes - a habit that he was alone in doing, and she would read them before signing anything.
That was if Greymane and Nathanos could stop barking for five minutes.
She didn't blame Nathanos, he had the best interests of the horde - and by that she meant Her interests, at heart. But he could learn to stop baiting the old wolf, it was like a fox playing with its hunters, leading them further and further into the forest so they would get lost among the brush.
Entertaining in the past, but now, a waste of time.
Why should she care about favorable trade routes and fishing rights with what waited for them all past the veil.
“Enough!” The room was silenced by the young lion slamming his fist into the table, a rare breach in his patience effectively muzzling the flea bitten king. “This is getting us nowhere, I suggest an hour's recess for us all to cool off.”
Several members of both sides nodded their assent, and Sylvanas had no interest in belaying them. So she stood and walked from the table, being careful not to appear like she was leaving and causing an incident. Such meetings were tiring but would be worse if she insulted her hosts too much.
It was unclear if it was coincidence or habits from an old life led her to the refreshments table, she had no need to eat food, blood being enough to keep her form intact. But alcohol was still a vice even in death, the burn one of the few things she could still taste.
The table was stocked with wine, she raised the bottle to inspect the label out of habit, she was not impressed.
“Tides Anduin, could have at least given us the good wine..” the mumbled curses summed up her opinion nicely, it was expensive but low quality, barely older than the boy himself. What amused the banshee was who had voiced their distaste, even under her breath.
“Perhaps Greymane chose it as a particularly petty snub, i doubt the little lion has had the time to develop a taste for wine, Let alone be able to tell bad from passing.” why she felt the need to comment was beyond her, perhaps a desire for intelligent conversation.
Ex-Archmage Jaina Proudmoore tried to hide the smirk on her face by not looking up from the bottle, unfortunately for her the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes gave her away.
“Anduin doesn't drink much, so you're probably correct. But I doubt it was Genn, even he wouldn't jeopardize this meeting by doing something that petty.” she paused, before placing the bottle back on the table with a sign. “At least I hope he won't."
“You have more faith in the old man than is earned, but I am not so petty as to hold the choice of drinks against the alliance.” Sylvanas placed her own bottle down, a silent consensus that the swill wouldn't be worth tasting. “Belore knows the horde drinks worse.”
The mage’s laugh was cut short by her hand covering her mouth, couldn't let the rest of the alliance know the Banshee Queen had made her laugh.
“Lor'themar not wasting good wine on his allies?” the woman turned to face her, cocking her head in a rather childish way for a woman nearing four decades.
“The day the orcs brew something palatable perhaps, I would have the Darkspear provide some of their rum in our next meeting, but I think it would kill most of the delegates.” That comment seemed to spark interest in the mage’s eyes.
“I should try it at some point, can't be worse than that swill the Draenei make from potatoes"
Sylvanas couldn't stop the low chuckle, there was something pleasant about trading barbs about people they called allies. Would likely cause a scandal but she really couldn't care less, Rok'han had complained about the drink himself a number of times.
The silence that settled between them was nice, one could even forget they were diplomats for a moment. Just a pair of alcoholics complaining about the drinks at a tavern, as if they hadn't spilled enough blood between them to drown nations.
It might have been that relaxed atmosphere that compelled the insanity that slipped from Proudmoore’s lips.
“Well Warchief, on the off chance my compatriot has chosen to insult you with the choice of refreshments….” She looked over her shoulder to make sure none of the other world leaders were within earshot, especially the king of stormwind. “I know where Varien kept the good stuff, could I make up for the insult by sharing it with you?”
Sylvanas was taken by no small amount of shock, the offer was far from normal of a diplomat. Sneaking away from a meeting to steal the late king's secret stash was one thing, but to do so with the leader of a hostile nation was borderline treason.
It was the exact kind of thing she would have done when she was alive.
She let the offer hang in the air for a moment, waiting for Jaina to pull the rug out from her, or simply realize how stupid of an idea it was. But no such thing came, and Sylvanas found herself curious about what the mage had planned.
It was a pointless distraction from her mission, but it was a welcome one.
After a few more moments in which Jaina seemed to be getting restless, The Warchief turned to her fully and gave a small bow.
“I would be honored Lady Proudmoore, and appreciate your abilities as a host” she tried to inject some humor into the statement without sounding sarcastic, if the little huff the mage gave her was any indication, it worked.
“Of course Warchief, this way if you please.”
Nathanos and Lor'themar gave her a look as she and Jaina left the room, one confused and one that reminded her of her youth in a way she was not comfortable with. Lor'themar still seemed to forget she was not the woman he remembered, a part of her was glad he didn't seem to view her as the monster he once had. But that was a mistake, he would return to that line of thinking soon enough, once the horde had the strength to see her mission though. But for now he could remember the Ranger General, not the Banshee Queen.
The walk to wherever Jaina had in mind was short, clearly a room designed to be quickly accessed from the central hall. The guards seemed not at all surprised to see the mage but did give Sylvanas a weary eye, if Jaina hadn't waved them off with a line about ‘diplomatic talks’ they might have tried to stop her. It was a rather telling show of the woman’s relationship with the kingdom, she may not be officially a ranking member of the court, but she was the closest thing to the mother of the king they had seen in decades. For all his faults, Varian had made sure his son had people to care for him when the gladiator could not, which was often.
Their destination was a study, surprisingly spartan for a king, but Varian had been a practical sort. And it was very clearly Varian’s study, the desk was simple and sturdy. A set of comfortable arm chairs complimenting the hearth with half a dozen swords mounted above it. Finally the desk was a mess, covered in ink stains and dents where a man in plate had likely tossed a gauntlet none too gently on its surface.
The study of a general, not a statesman. Not too dissimilar from her own study back in Orgrimmar, or the one in Windrunner spire all those years ago.
Sylvanas buried the memory of her home quickly, such thoughts were a distraction. More important were the reports lying face up on the desk, she moved slightly closer, hoping to spot anything of use for her future plans.
“Don't bother, they're all out of date, Anduin doesn't use this room.”
The Elf froze, how the mage had seen her was anyone’s guess. Jaina had her back to the ranger and was rifling through the bookshelf looking for something. Perhaps Sylvanas had become predictable recently - a disquieting thought, or it was just what Jaina would have done. It was irrelevant, the reports were indeed out of date by a year. Just before the broken shore, just before the man's death, a waste of good leadership on both sides.
“Where are you, ya bugger…” the slight shift in accent was curious, the fact that Jaina was from Kul’tiras wasn't news to Sylvanas. But it was amusing to hear her slip from the refined cadence of Dalaran, it was charming. Had she still lived, she might have found it rather attractive.
“There we are!” Jaina removed a heavy book from the shelf and reached behind it, far deeper than was normal. “What idiot hide’s alcohol behind books, any moisture from the bottle will damage the parchment.” She pulled a dark bottle from the alcove as well as a set of tumblers.
“One who cares more for appearances” Sylvanas drawled.
Jaina rolled her eyes before sitting in one of the arm chairs, pouring a measure of the dark liquid in both glasses. “He was probably more concerned with Anduin finding it, the boy was a menace growing up and would have skulled the stuff had he found it.” she gestured for Sylvanas to sit. “And when he was older….” a morose look overcame her as Sylvanas moved to stand next to the fire. “He probably didn't want him to see how much he drank.”
That Varian was in his cups didn't surprise the Banshee, that Jaina seemed not just sympathetic but empathetic…..
Perhaps her thought about tavern drunks was more accurate than she thought.
“Its good that the little lion doesn't take after his father then, i would hate to see our little peace broker lose his fire.” The chair was soft, something Sylvanas could appreciate even in death. It felt good as she lowered herself carefully onto its plush cushion, she was glad that her spikier armour had been left on her ship, Leathers and flat plate were unlikely to damage them.
Jaina raised her glass towards the Banshee Queen in a toast.
“To Peace then, for all our sakes.”
The look in her eyes told Sylvanas what she was truly looking for, a sign that this wasn't all an elaborate act. That the Warchief was truly invested in the piece talks they were involved in, that this wouldn't fall apart the moment it was convenient.
She felt a twinge of guilt having to lie.
“To peace, and those that would fight for it…” they gently clinked their glass’. Before the Mage shot the whole measure in one gulp. Sylvanas chose to sip hers, it was a good whiskey, smooth but strong. Aged in oak if her dead taste buds didn't lie, with a hint of something else.
“This isn't from a stormwind brewery.”
The Woman across from her thumped her glass down on the small coffee table and poured herself another measure, but chose to sip this time, before shooting her a grin.
“Good eye, this is from Boralus. Varian always grabbed a bottle or two whenever merchants had it in stock.” the fact that it would cost a fortune was not lost on the banshee, Kul’tiras did not trade with the alliance directly so he would be buying it at a premium.
“Treating me to your home’s specialty? I'm honored, Lady Proudmore." She had meant the statement to be in good faith but the dark look that Jaina gave her gave her pause.
“I doubt the brewers would appreciate the sentiment, Windrunner.” she growled the name with a venom that clawed at Sylvanas ire, but she managed to restrain herself. It was her fault, neither women were on good terms with their family and it was poor form to remind either of them of it.
She should apologize, but that would show weakness. And acknowledging the common ground they shared would tug at a part of the elf she didn't want to visit. So she shot the remainder of the drink and stood.
“Thank you for the drink, it is about time i got back.” she made to leave but the sigh from behind her and the sound of another round of drinks being poured stopped her.
“Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. Please sit, I really don't want to go back to that shitshow right now.” She sounded exhausted, like the weight of the world was just that start of her troubles. Sylvanas briefly wondered if Jaina was as tired as herself, had the injustice of the world worn her down as much as the Ranger General?
Could she be an ally if she knew the scope of that injustice?
It was that idea, and nothing else, that brought her back to the chair and picking up the tumbler again.
“We both have said unwise things, I suspect the whiskey is to blame.” Regardless of the statement, she took another sip.
The mage cocked her head to the side, a look of curiosity on her face. A scholar though and though.
“Does it affect you? It was my understanding that forsaken blood didn't carry the alcohol to your brain..”
Forsaken, Not undead. The woman was trying to be respectful despite her asking very personal, not to mention politically charged questions about her potential weakness to poison.
Not that Sylvanas cared, she rarely drank so it was a weakness they would never be able to take advantage of.
She sighed, a useless action but it would hopefully convey her mood.
“The body still functions, albeit slowly and depending on the extent of physical degradation. Potions still work so why wouldn't poison?” not that they could die from it, but its effects were still there. “I wouldn't recommend trying that; however, few would be lethal.”
Jaina scoffed, placing her booted feet on the far end of the table away from the drinks and relaxing deeper into the chair.
“The only poison I intend to give you or your people is ethanol, but I am sorry if that's what it sounded like. I let my curiosity get the better of me.”
“No harm done.” Sylvanas lied with a shrug, “you’re not the first scholar to show interest in how we work, but by far the most polite.”
“Oh? I didn't know there were academic works on forsaken biology. At least not ones available to people outside of the undercity." The woman really was a scholar, it was charming in its own way.
“By design, both for security and the fact the text in question was….” fetishistic - the phrase she was looking for was fetishistic and condescending. Speaking of the forsaken as a specimen in a jar, one the author wanted nothing more than to have control over.
“I'm guessing it was invasive?”
Damn this woman and her intelligence.
“Extremely.”
The mage sighed, clearly not surprised in the slightest.
“Apologies on behalf of my fellow academics. They don't tend to be very good with human etiquette at the best of times, let alone other people's” the grimace told Sylvanas this wasn't the first work the mage had read in this vein.
“Are we people now? How very generous of you.” Sylvanas couldn't stop the barb before she threw it, her mouth really was her worst enemy. Luckily, Jaina took it in well.
“Had you asked me a decade ago, I wouldn't have said so. But I have spent too much time with forsaken adventurers to think like that any more.” She paused, unsure of her next words. “It is nice to know the people of Lordaeron have developed such a culture.”
A Culture? More like the cobbled together coping mechanisms of traumatized people.
Which could also describe half of Azaroth now that Sylvanas thought about it. Which was more than a little amusing, trust Jaina Proudmoore to find common ground where others could not.
“You always did see the best in people…”
The statement hung in the air awkwardly again, Sylvanas really should stop drinking. It was an inappropriately intimate comment about a woman she barely knew, never mind how it reminded them both of how far Jaina had fallen recently. Sylvanas was half way ready to turn herself into smoke and bolt when the Mage started laughing.
Open and unhinged, the kind of laugh Sylvanas had found herself succumbing to on a few occasions. When the absurdity of her circumstances had gotten the better of her, the laugh of a broken woman.
“Yes well, “ Jaina wiped a tear from her eye, “that didn't last long did it…” she lifted the bottle to check the level.
“We’re only three drinks in and your composure is shot Windrunner, want to slow down?” Jaina grinned at her, a sort of gallows grin that told Sylvanas that Jaina understood she had meant no offense.
“You have matched me Proudmoore, and you don't have my constitution, sure you shouldn't slow down yourself?”
Jaina puffed out her - rather ample, chest in challenge. Picking up the bottle and filling both their glass’ far more than was safe.
“Human I may be, Windrunner, but I'm still Kul’tiran. I have drunk more elves under the table than you would believe.”
“Is that where you're trying to get me Proudmoore? Under the table?”
The silence that followed was invasive, you could hear the creaking of century old timber frame in the walls,
Damned her and her blasted mouth!
“Apologies..” She raised her glass to look at the dark liquid, leaning back in her chair to hide the way she knew her ears were canting in shame. “It seems the drink has gotten to me.”
The other woman was silent, the attempt at humor ignored. Of course she would ignore it, she was probably trying to hold her lunch in at the implication. A walking corpse making crude comments was a line too far, even if Jaina had shown herself to be a possible ally to the forsaken. For all her self discipline and carefully constructed persona, all it took for Sylvanas Windrunner to slip back into her days as Ranger general was a pretty woman and a few drinks.
A Pretty woman who had just uncrossed her legs with a loud thump of her boot on the carpet.
“Not my intention, but as i said, you wouldn'ta be the first.” the way she said it shot directly to a part of the elf she had been positive was dead. Low and gravely, her Kul’tiran accent rising to the surface.
Due to the alcohol, nothing else. This was banter, a way of lighting the mood.
Didn't help the voice in her head that reminded her of her own words, ‘still works’ indeed.
Sylvanas hid her growing shame behind a scoff, she would play along with this farce if it meant they could go back to their relaxed tone, Leaning into the chair and crossing her legs.
“Im sure you were very popular in Dalaran, men are hardly difficult prey, mages especially. Elf or otherwise.”
“When’d I say anything about men?”
Another move in this game, made by someone who didn't know the advantage they held, nor the effect it was having.
“I assumed, given what I know of your previous partners.” The elf hoped Jaina would look past their shared trauma and think of the dragon rather than the tyrant.
“Never been one for flauntin’ my talents with women, to many political consequences. We can't all have ballads about us, Sylvanas.” The smirk on the mages face was telling, the deflection was noted but ignored.
The implication that Jaina had heard of her reputation in life sparked pride, and more than a little horror in the dead elf. The only one she could think who would dare share those stories was her sister, and the idea she had told Jaina was mortifying.
How many drinks had that taken to pry from Little Moon? How many nights together by the fire, drinking expensive liquor - or wine, knowing her sister. How many years of shared pain and lowered inhibitions?
Had Proudmoore fucked her sister?
A flash of anger shot through Sylvanas, who was this glorified sailor to tease her about her love life? A life that was torn from her by a man Jaina had let live? A Life she would never have back now she knew what awaited her across the veil?
Damn Proudmoore and her silver tongue, Sylvanas would show her what a golden tongue could do!
“My point stands, the fumbling of a pampered mage between a ladies thighs is nothing compared to any ranger, how did the ballad go again?” Sylvanas let the second tone of her voice lend a hiss to her voice she knew affected her dark rangers a certain way, not that she had ever indulged them, regardless of rumors.
“So in the Ranger generals' wake, know that ladies legs shake~”
Said ranger uncrossed her legs with a loud thump of boot on the floor to silence the horrible woman. Jaina’s thalassian was crude, a formal accent scraping against the informal drawl of a ranger. It was horrifying, and perfect for the kind of filth the song would devolve into.
Sylvanas couldn't think of a retort, the song had been sung by the ranger core on campaign, not the kind of thing that was written down. Jaina had heard it first hand, and remembered it enough to get the lyrics correct.
She was silent.
“Whats the matter, ranger general?” Jaina grinned at her, swirling her now mostly empty glass “afraid you’ve lost your touch?”
The taunt was the last straw, dead as she was, Sylvanas couldn't let that slide. Her pride couldn't allow it, not after everything else she had done was spat on. It was petty, a joke among the ranger core more than any real reputation but it was still hers and she was damned if it was going to be called into question. Never spoken of, forgotten, politely ignored was fine. But never questioned.
She downed the last of the glass, which was most of it. Before standing and looming over the woman who would invoke her ire, hand placed on the back of the chair and knee placed between her legs. Not close enough for contact, but a reminder of what she was capable of.
Had she done such a move to any other woman, they would be stunned by fear, arousal or both.
Jaina just looked faintly amused.
“Do you want to find out, Proudmoore?” she growled low enough that the second tone of her voice was almost gone. “Have all of Stormwind know you sang for the Banshee queen?”
The bitch had the gall to roll her eyes, before she spread her legs, one boot still on the coffee table and rested her chin on her knuckles. It was a pose Sylvanas was used to taking on her throne, to project a bored authority that unnerved people.
It was only now she saw the trap, with Jaina seated Sylvanas would be kneeling. A position of submission ill suiting her station, but if she tried to move Jaina or otherwise change positions it would betray her insecurity.
She could just pick the woman up and toss her on the desk, but that would be harder to explain should someone enter the room later. Well played Proudmoore, not that Sylvanas cared. It would be hard to claim she was the submissive partner when the bitch was coming unraveled.
Sylvanas kicked Jaina's leg off the table, knocking her off balance, if Jaina wanted to play stupid games, so would the ranger general. “Pants off, now.”
That seemed to get a flush from her, the reality of what she’d gotten herself into seeming to catch up with her. But she didn't falter, undoing her belt and wiggling out of her pants. Sylvanas was glad she didn't back down, she was unsure how she would have sat though the rest of the meeting while this pent up.
Once divested of her trousers Jaina’s previous bluster was undercut by just how soaked she was, how the hell she was able to get that riled up by the corpse of an elf was anyone's guess. Sylvanas didn't care.
She ran a long clawed finger over Jaina’s inner thigh, resulting in a barely suppressed shiver and a bitten lip. This was going to be fun, a concept Sylvanas had thought lost to her.
“All that talk and you're already shaking? Don't disappoint me Proudmoore” she purred.
“Eat me, Windrunner!” Jaina hissed through clenched teeth.
“I intend too…”
Sylvanas dropped to her knees without a sound, but the noise Jaina made when she fell back into the chair as her legs were lifted onto the elf’s shoulders was enough to end their little power struggle right there and then. Had Sylvanas been a vindictive person, more so than she already was. She could have left the mage to handle herself, pride restored and Jaina gagged for the rest of the meeting. But that would rob Sylvanas of a meal she hadn't known she’d been missing, and the kul’tiran looked like a very raw steak.
A meal to savoir, hang anyone who would interrupt them.
The Banshee ran her tongue over her pulse point, fangs dangerously close to ending the woman and giving Sylvanas a meal she would never forget. But it would be a shame for their game to end in bloodshed, at least the lethal kind. Opting instead to pull the soaked undergarments aside with her teeth, lightly grazing the woman's clit with her nose.
Jaina bit down on her hand to stifle the cry such treatment garnered, hissing behind her teeth as the Warchief smirked between her legs.
“Fucking hell~” Jaina groaned, fisting Sylvanas' white hair behind her ear. “Stop teasing me you horrific bit…” She didn't get to finish her insult as Sylvanas swiped her clit with her tongue causing Jaina to whine like a dog.
Ironic given how the ranger lapped at her folds, desperate to hear those noses again. Clawed hands digging into plush thighs enough to welt the skin, physical reminders of Sylvanas' claim, marking her ownership of the greatest mortal mage the world had ever seen.
She needed to feel her.
A dull thud followed the clawed gauntlet as Sylvanas practically tore it from her wrist, a part of her balked at removing armor so deep in enemy territory, but a much louder part wanted to explore that territory in detail.
Jaina took her finger easily, sylvanas was a little shocked at how soaked the woman was. How drunk the admiral must be to mistake dead flesh as something to be enjoyed, in a few hours the disgust would consume her, a blow to the Alliance's morale.
It was easier to pretend this was a strategy than unpack how that made Sylvanas feel.
“More…. Please~” the fingers in her hair brought Sylvanas back, a light scratching behind her ear stimulating nerves she thought long dead, she had to fight back the purr coiling in her throat, but couldn't fight the moan of appreciation.
Jaina tasted divine, it might have just been the years of celibacy talking but it was like nothing else. How had she managed without this? The taste of a woman's appreciation for her skilled tongue, how they shivered and panted and begged. It was enough to wake long dead feelings in her core, build a tension in her that could only be satiated by a warm cunt and pleasant company.
It had been too damned long.
To distract the mage from her wavering composure she slid a second finger into the woman, pulling them back to slowly drag on her front walls, putting her mouth to work on the bundle on nerves causing such delicious mewls to fill the room. Desperate and needy, Sylvanas wanted to draw them out for hours, turn the woman in front of her into a puddle. Shame they were on a time limit.
“Harder damn you!, im not a fuckin’ lace wearing….:” Jaina bucked her hips roughly. “Landlocked….” another whine. “MOVE!” she fisted Slyvanas’ hair and pushed her deeper into her cunt. It was a rather enjoyable feeling for once, being handled like this. Not something she would tolerate next time, such incorrigible brattyness could only be given so much room to breath.
… Next time?
The banshee growled as she dropped Jaina’s hips, shoving another finger into her and thumbing her clit. Breaking Jaina’s grip on her hair and looming over her, pressing her into the chair, completely enveloping the mage with her body.
“None of that Proudmoore!” she hissed, “or ill drag you out by your hair in front of all those fools waiting for us!” she ignored how that made the woman clench. “You will take what I give you and be grateful!”
Jaina opened her mouth to backtalk, a mistake that was rectified by shoving the fingers of her other hand into the offending hole and clamping her chin with her thumb. Sylvanas wouldn't let her speak, couldn't let her.
Proudmoore bit down on her hand but the pain barely registered, it was nothing, this was nothing.
Experienced she may be, but such rough treatment wasn't conducive to a long session. Jaina’s eyes squeezed shut and she started shaking, biting down hard enough to draw ichor and clenching hard around the banshee's fingers. It was not a satisfying orgasm, not by itself. The Ranger General would make sure to give her a few more to compensate, the Banshee queen shouldn't have lowered herself in the first place.
The angry look on the arch-mage’s face told her that it was a mistake she might not live to regret. Sylvanas needed to leave, now.
She was spared the wrath of the ocean by the sounds of heavy boots and arguing from outside, from voices they both recognized with mounting horror.
Sylvanas didn't waste a second, shifting into black smoke faster than was comfortable and causing the woman below her to stumble from the loss of support. She quickly hid in the shadows of the roof.
“You BITCH..” Jaina hissed at the sudden emptiness, looking frantically around the room as the voices grew louder. Panic overtaking rage in her eyes as she quickly started drawing sigils in the air, before she simply disappeared. The only evidence of their tussle was the decanter and glasses. An invisibility spell? Sylvanas hoped she had the foresight to mask the smell as well.
It would have to do as the doors crashed open as a very angry dog thundered into the room.
“The guards said they went this way! They have to be here!” Greymane growled between sharp teeth, he must be rattled to be walking around in his dog form like that.
He was followed by a very tired, but worried looking boy king.
“Auntie Jaina can handle herself Genn, and I doubt the Warchief would be so bold to do anything while inside the castle.” He cast an appraising look around the room, eyes catching on the bottle of alcohol.
“The Banshee should have never been allowed to be alone with anyone! No matter how capable! The guards should have known better!” the man sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “What is that smell?”
Sylvanas' heart would have stopped if it hadn't already.
Anduin chuckled wryly, and walked around the armchairs. Dangerously close to where she knew the mage was likely still hiding - hopefully Covering her shame, and picked up the bottle.
“Seems they were discussing politics.” the boy smiled, wiggling the bottle at the worgen.
Greymane Bristled, fur on his neck standing.
“That was you fathers….”
“Jaina’s really." Andin looked crestfallen, a look that made Sylvanas’ stomach plummet for some reason. “Father would have hated it to go to waste, and I'm not going to drink it.” The chuckle was hollow, but he stepped back towards the door and placed the bottle on the desk. “Come, she was probably just showing the Warchief some hospitality. They will be back soon I'm sure.”
The old wolf continued his ranting as he left the room before his king, Sylvanas was almost relieved before Anduin looked directly at the chair Jaina was still in and grinned.
“Take it home with you if you like” he whispered, nodding to the bottle, before he turned and closed the door behind him. Hopefully still unaware of the exact nature of his aunt's ‘Hospitality’.
They waited for the ranting to get quieter, before Jaina reappeared with a gasp. Face red and panting, had she been holding her breath?
At least she had pulled her undergarments back in place, Sylvanas felt a pang of sympathy imagining herself being so ‘bare’ in front of one of her nephews.
The mage buried her face in her hands and collapsed back into the chair. The mortification of the night catching up to her. “Stupid, Stupid, Stupid girl” she hissed. “Doing that! With her! In his fathers fucking study!”
A few tears fell between her fingers, her self deprecating mumbling continuing as if Sylvanas wasn’t still lurking in the shadows.
Why was she still lurking? The door was no obstacle in this form. And she had better things to do than watch a woman cry.
Cry because she fucked a corpse.
Cry because you abandoned her.
The banshee queen slipped out of the room as smoke, and down the hall like an arrow from her bow. She needed to get back to the meeting, get back to the mind numbing tedium of politics.
Get away from the consequences of her lack of control.